


Blaine's Lonely Hearts Club Playlist (short, incomplete version - there is nothing here that isn't in the revised extended version)

by slowcookedvig



Series: Playlist-verse [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, character study snippets, not a coherent plot, warning - non-canonical death in backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23721238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slowcookedvig/pseuds/slowcookedvig
Summary: Alternate versions of scenes referred to in Kurt's Moderately Annoying Playlist, from Blaine's point of view.The chapters in this fic have been revised, added to, and supplemented (by, like another 40,000 words) and are archived as "Blaine's Lonely Hearts Club Playlist (revised, extended play edition)"
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Series: Playlist-verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1708510
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	1. You got that something

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: 
> 
> I've re-written this. It's now around 45k word or more.
> 
> It has been posted as a different fic, "Blaine's Lonely Hearts Club Playlist (revised extended play edition)". The first two chapters of that fic are the same as the first two chapters here. I added a lot of material to the third chapter, and then the revision gets entirely out of control.
> 
> Warning: Burt’s dead in this series. I know. Sorry.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Blaine just wants to get over a bad breakup, and ends up seeing an ANGEL.
> 
> OK. Well, maybe he was just drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setlist:
> 
> Free (Phish: https://youtu.be/y5HNCw3VLB0)  
> I Want to Hold Your Hand (The Beatles, plus Kurt in Season 2)  
> On the Rebound (Uriah Heep: https://youtu.be/Cc8UJS3GMoY)

Ok. Maybe the whole thing had been a bad idea. The rose petals. The chocolate-dipped strawberries. The guitar. The proposal.

Blaine sits in the back of a booth, surrounded by friends: Wes, who has just finished at Columbia Law School. Joe, whose keyboard skills mean that Blaine never plays piano at any gathering with his college friends. Al, another NYU friend, and the world's best and most reliable drummer, who deals with all of the Spinal Tap jokes without missing a beat.

"Without missing a beat," Blaine slurs, draping an arm across Al's back. Wes pats him on the shoulder.

Wes was the first person to try to talk some sense into Blaine.

The first to TRY.

You see, SOME people just don't understand romance. What did Wes mean, that two months wasn't enough time to declare undying love? First, time is irrelevant when it comes to love. And second, it hadn't been _two months_. It had been _two months in New York_ , plus six weeks of work together as camp counselors at that theatre camp in Connecticut. Plus that music festival, with the brownies, and the hours spent staring at their hands. HANDS. Seriously. Blaine had never really looked at his hands before. Certainly never while hearing such a SONG, like seeing a SOUL. And he and the hippy-boy-who-shall-remain-nameless had made out in the back of the lawn section and then had absolutely stoned sex back in the counselors' quarters.

But Wes does have a point. About the rose petals, at least. And Blaine should have known better than to propose when he heard _in a minute I'll be free, and you'll be splashing in the sea_. But Blaine had thought that he and the hippy-boy from the theatre camp would just get stoned again, after the rose petals and the chocolate and the ring. He had no idea that the hippy-boy was about to dump him.

Oh, shit, Blaine is going to have to return the ring. Who returns a ring?

LOSERS. LOSERS return rings. The kind of losers who write papers about how Shakespeare's tragedies are so good because they make people cry. Who wear primary-colored bow ties to their first theatre class at NYU. Who buy rhyming dictionaries so they can write sappy love songs about hallucinatory experiences. L O S E R S.

Blaine puts down the empty shot glass and orders more tequila. MORE. TEQUILA.

The band finishes a set, and a couple of their members join Blaine's table. Bass player. Guitarist. They're the best, Blaine loves them to death. But. They're on set break, and that means that they're excited and they keep chattering and DON'T THEY UNDERSTAND. Blaine finishes his tequila and nudges Wes.

"You need to use the rest room?" Wes might be sympathetic. Or he might be mocking Blaine. It's hard to tell. But yes, Blaine does need to use the rest room. Or to get some air. Or something.

Blaine stumbles between the tables. It takes a few tries, and help from a waitress, but eventually he finds the rest room. Pissing clears his head.

Or at least, he thinks it does. But then, as he makes his way back through the maze of tables, he isn't so sure.

Because there, halfway across the room, is an angel. AN. ANGEL.

Blaine hasn't believed in angels since he was five years old and got in trouble for using bad words. Bad words that he had learned from the songs that he had heard angels singing. He had insisted that they weren't bad words, no angel would use bad words. And then he got into even more trouble.

Eventually, he had realized that those were _people_ singing those songs. Not angels. And also, nobody else could hear them. And angels weren't real, and also the people who told him about angels thought it was bad for him to want to marry a boy. Not bad because boys will break your heart. Bad because the people in his church were fucking bigots, and Blaine would fucking well use bad words to talk about them if they were going to be bigots.

But maybe he was wrong about all of it. Well, not about the fucking bigots. About the angels. Because one is there, in the bar, singing with the purest and clearest voice Blaine has ever heard.

_When I_  
_feel that something  
I want to hold your hand_

The angel stands so straight, with the most perfect posture that Blaine has ever seen. Even his upswept HAIR has perfect posture. His skin glows, pale and flawless, in the dim light of the bar. His eyes are bright blue, rimmed with red. His cheek glistens, as if with a single tear. And then he extends his hand, and Blaine just wants to take it. Because Blaine might be drunk, but he isn't stoned. What he's feeling, what the ANGEL is feeling... it's real. It's the most real thing that Blaine has ever felt in his life.

All Blaine really wants is to feel something real. Something REAL.

REAL.

Shit, Blaine is really drunk.

But despite the way the room spins around him, Blaine takes a step forward, drawn by the beauty of the angel's voice.

And then the angel sits down and disappears into the crowd. And his friends find him just standing there, weeping, and steer him back towards his seat. And they buy him more drinks, and tell him that it will be all right, and load him into the back seat of a taxi, and leave him sprawled on Al's couch with some Tylenol and a bottle of water and a bucket in case he vomits in the middle of the night like a college freshman.

*

In the morning, Blaine stumbles into Al's kitchen. The smell of eggs makes him want to retch, but thankfully, Al has made some dry toast and a pot of coffee. Blaine adds a heaping spoonful of sugar and waits for the teasing to begin.

But Al just looks at him and shakes his head sadly.

"You had it bad, didn't you," Al says. "I can't believe you fell that hard for that guy."

Blaine sighs. There is probably a bruise forming on his leg, where he slept on the ring that was in his pocket.

"You kept muttering something about an angel," Al continues.

Blaine looks up. The angel. Maybe he should go back to the bar tonight. Maybe the angel will be there again, and Blaine can offer to buy him some tequila and find out what could break an angel's heart like that.

"Blaine," Al says. "We were talking. Me and Joe, and some of the other guys. And we think you need something to do. Something to help you get over this." Al doesn't say _without getting into another bad rebound relationship_. But his inner song says _you like to drown in your tears,_ from some 80s heavy metal song, and it's full of concern along with the head-banging. It's sweet, that even Blaine's straight friends care about his love life. Or about his potential for getting in too deep.

But Blaine is still feeling argumentative. "I did do something. I worked at that summer camp. I was in a couple community theatre productions." Blaine may be living on his trust fund while he dreams about finding true love and making a career as an actor. But it's not like he does NOTHING.

"We want to start a band," Al continues. "And we think you should sing in it."

Blaine frowns. "You know about my disastrous singing proposal," he replies. "I am NOT writing songs for anyone."

"A cover band," Al clarifies. "Funk. Jazz. Pop. Whatever." He shrugs. "I know it isn't what you dream about, and it's definitely not a career, but who knows. Maybe it will lead to something."

Blaine isn't sure that he's ready for anything right now. But a cover band could be safe.

"Sure," he agrees.

And he puts away the thought of the lonely angel. For now.


	2. Running to see you again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later, Blaine gets a part. But better yet, he hears an angel singing. Twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:
> 
> I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For (U2: https://youtu.be/e3-5YC_oHjE)  
> Blackbird  
> You've Got a Friend (Carole King: https://youtu.be/eAR_Ff5A8Rk)

Blaine practically skips out of the theatre.

Ok. He doesn't literally skip. At least, not on the street, and not in the subway. But the callback went well. Really well. And when he finally gets home, he texts Al to let him know.

 _Great_ , Al replies. _So are you still saving your voice?_

 _I've been singing all week,_ Blaine types. _You can do instrumentals, can't you? Or maybe someone else can sit in. Or you can sing._

 _I'll do a ninety-minute drum solo,_ Al texts back. _That will show you._

 _Get Wes to sing,_ Blaine suggests.

 _This is a funk band,_ Al reminds him. _Not a barbershop quartet for lawyers._

 _So instrumentals,_ Blaine replies. _Or Joe. Or ask for volunteers from the audience._ He strips out of his audition clothes and heads for the shower. _See you soon._

*

An hour later, the gel is washed out of Blaine's hair and he's dressed for the band, even if he won't be singing. Black jeans, black t-shirt. Sneakers, not loafers. Role-playing a preppy was fine for the audition, but not for the club scene.

His band is already warming up when he gets there, but Wes and a few of his other friends have a booth in the back.

"How was the audition?" Wes yells in Blaine's ear.

"I think I nailed it," Blaine shouts back.

Wes just nods. It's too loud for him to make the usual offer: a place at his firm, if Blaine ever decides to go to law school. It would be more stable than acting and singing, and it would make Blaine's father happy. But. Well, Blaine can hear the song in Wes's head.

_But I still_  
_haven't found_  
_what I'm looking for_

And it's a great song. But it doesn't sound much like someone who is happy being a lawyer, no matter how much Wes enjoys the office barbershop quartet.

Blaine listens to the song in Wes's head a little bit longer, wondering how it would sound as a funk cover. Maybe he'll tell Al about it, during set break. It wouldn't be the first time that Blaine has suggested an unusual arrangement of something he's just heard in someone's head.

The set goes on. Honestly, it doesn't bother Blaine that they're playing instrumentals, because he can hear the audience singing along. When Blaine is singing, he has to block out the voices. Otherwise, he'll end up matching them, and sometimes, they sing out of key. Which reminds him that _With A Little Help From My Friends_ might make an appropriately weird funk cover, too. Blaine pulls out the notebook that he carries in his back pocket and starts writing down ideas.

It's almost set break by the time Blaine puts away his notes and decides to take a trip to the rest room. He excuses himself and works his way past the bar and out of the room. When he's done, he stops at the bar and listens to the voices.

And then, suddenly, Blaine hears HIM.

The angel.

He can barely remember anything from that night two years ago. But he remembers the voice. And there it is, again, long after Blaine had stopped hoping to hear it. After two years of refusing to leave New York and move to LA like his brother suggested, because maybe the angel was a New Yorker and maybe, someday, Blaine would hear him again.

And there he is. Standing near the far side of the room.

_All your life_  
_You were only waiting for this moment to be free._

And the voice is just as pure and heart-breaking as Blaine remembers, coming from a face that glows in the dim light at the edge of the room, eyes closed in pain. Blaine starts walking towards him, but he has to go around the stupid tables, and someone grabs his arm and starts talking to him. Dammit, why did their regulars have to show up here, tonight. Blaine murmurs an apology and frees his arm, but it's too late. By the time Blaine gets to the far side of the room, the angel is gone. He makes conversation, looking for the face that goes with that voice. But he's nowhere to be found.

*

Friday night, Blaine meets his friends at the Spotlight Diner. It's the first time for him, waiting for a call about his own role, but some of his actor friends from NYU have convinced him that the Spotlight is THE place to wait. So Blaine settles into a giant booth with Wes, Al, and a bunch of people who are waiting for the same call.

The diner is a cacophony of song, as one might expect from a Broadway hangout. Some patrons are practicing their next audition songs in their heads. One of the waitresses is singing _I'm the Greatest Star._ Blaine blocks out the rest of the songs for a moment and listens. He knows that voice. She was at the same callback as Blaine, even reading one of the scenes opposite him. She was good. He hopes she gets the part.

And then he hears another voice.

_Ain't it good to know that_  
_You've got a friend_  
_When people can be so cold_  
_They'll hurt you_  
_oh and desert you_  
_and take your soul if you let them_  
_oh, but don't you let them..._

It's the angel. He's here, in the Spotlight Diner. Maybe he is a performer, maybe Blaine will meet him someday at an audition. Blaine has to crane his neck; he's in the back of the booth, and his friends are taller than he is, and the angel isn't standing. No. There he is, at the counter, leaning towards the singing waitress. Singing to her, though she can't hear him. Blaine just watches and listens, soaking in the sound and the view and the absolute beauty of it all.

And then his phone buzzes, and suddenly the diner erupts in sound. The waitress is shrieking, and one of Blaine's friends has grabbed his phone and tapped it and put it on speaker, because Blaine can't remember the point of this whole evening. Which is how the entire table hears that Blaine got the part.

They jump to their feet and hug him, and then the waitress comes over and introduces herself and chatters away at him. And it is very exciting.

But when he finally is able to look across the room, the angel has disappeared.


	3. Help me need you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine meets Kurt. Cooks dinner. Plays at a wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:
> 
> Getting to Know You (The King and I: https://youtu.be/4MNANgFCYpk)  
> Get Happy (Judy Garland: https://youtu.be/q7d0NRewzW4)  
> Out Here on my Own (Irene Cara/Fame: https://youtu.be/i4mkRwkQRoQ)  
> I Refuse to Sing Along (Bert and Ernie: https://youtu.be/tqOJ_RTD5MM)  
> ABC (Jackson Five: https://youtu.be/ho7796-au8U)

"Hi! I'm Rachel Berry. We're going to be playing opposite one another. I know these are small parts, but we have a song together, and these are the kinds of roles that can lead to bigger and better things. I think we should practice outside our normal rehearsals, because it's very important to nail our chemistry." The small brunette is a force of nature, a miniature hurricane of ambition. Blaine feels immediately overwhelmed.

And also, that might have been a pick-up line. Time to clarify things. "We met already," Blaine replies. "At the diner where you work. We both got calls at the same time." He shakes her hand politely, and then releases it. "And you should know... I play for the other team." _And I want to know the name of your friend, the angel, and I have no idea how to even start this conversation._

"I know you're gay," Rachel replies. "I've got two gay dads. Plus Kurt, my roommate, who is also a fashion writer." She gives his loafers a pointed look. "But your character is straight, and we have a kiss, so I hope that you are able to act the part effectively."

"Of course," Blaine says, as smoothly as possible when Rachel has already insulted his straight-preppy-guy shoes. And also: Kurt. Fashion writer. At least it's a clue.

Their conversation is interrupted by the call for a scene that includes both of them. Which is probably good, because Blaine needs to do some research. And then he'll have more questions.

*

It takes some digging, or at least a variety of Google searches, but Blaine finds a name, and an employer, and a profile photo. The angel is Kurt Hummel, and he writes for Vogue. And his writing is surprising. Not bad; the angel has a way with words. Just amusing, and very pointed. Designed to make people read, and laugh, rather than feel. But the photo is the same person, and the songs don't lie. The difference between Kurt's public writing and inner singing just makes him even more intriguing.

Or maybe Blaine has fallen hard already, without even being introduced to the guy. It wouldn't be the first time.

Blaine tries to get information out of Rachel, but she's either ridiculously self-absorbed or very good at deflecting. He's able to learn a little: Rachel has known Kurt since high school (in Ohio, not that far from Blaine's old school); they've been roommates in New York for ten years; Rachel is a vegan but Kurt isn't; they watch musicals together on movie nights. That's pretty much it. So when Rachel mentions that she's meeting her roommate for coffee one day, Blaine decides to invite himself along. Because everyone needs coffee. Right?

Kurt is sitting at a table out of the way, a song about gossip from _Man of La Mancha_ running though his head. So show tunes are part of his mental repertoire, as well as the Beatles and Carole King. If anything, it makes Blaine more nervous; he just isn't sure where to start a conversation. So he escapes to pick up the coffee, inexplicably cowardly after building up to this for so long.

The conversation at the table is a start, at least. And it ends with an invitation to Rachel and Kurt's place, and a plan for Blaine to cook. Which is promising. Maybe?

*

Blaine doesn't just cook. He snoops. Because Rachel has not been very forthcoming about her angelic roommate, which means that he is going to need to learn from the photos on the shelves and from the contents of kitchen cupboards. The skillets are clean, unscratched, and parts of a set. The dishes are old but match, like they came from someone's parents rather than Goodwill. And the photos... ah. There. Blaine holds up the high school show choir photo and examines it. Rachel is at the front, of course; she has told him that part of her history. But she didn't mention Kurt. He's there, hidden in the back. So Blaine was right. That amazing voice isn't restricted to the inside of Kurt's head. He puts the photo back, sticks his earbuds in, and starts cooking.

He doesn't hear the door open, so he doesn't realize that Kurt is standing there until he speaks. But it's ok; Blaine doesn't fall over or immediately declare his undying love. They have a conversation; easy, casual, with Kurt singing _Getting to Know You_ from _The King and I_ in his head. More old Broadway. Interesting.

*

The dinner ends too soon. So Blaine is left to internet searches and masturbation until he can find another excuse to visit Rachel and her roommate.

The searches turn up a music blog. It's the most frightening thing that Blaine has ever read, utterly cool and viciously critical at the same time. Which means that he takes an immense risk by bringing his guitar to Rachel's place the next time they plan to rehearse. After all, Blaine has a bad history with love songs and his guitar. But he won't play his own compositions. Just his duet with Rachel. So maybe it will be ok.

Kurt doesn't sing anything in his head that night.

The next time Blaine sees Kurt, Blaine is at a club, halfway through his first song with his band. Shit. He knew Rachel was going to be there, or at least was going to stop by and tell the rest of the band that he was going to be late. But he didn't know that she was planning to bring Kurt along.

He can't keep himself from going over to Kurt's table during set break, as part of his usual wander through the crowd. Kurt's inner song is still silent, and Blaine doesn't know what that means. But Kurt says that he enjoyed the music, at least after Rachel teases him about it. That's probably as good as Blaine is going to get, so he moves into another conversation. And then he hears Kurt's voice.

_Forget your troubles_   
_Come on, get happy_   
_You better chase_   
_All your cares_   
_Away..._

And holy shit. Kurt is looking at Blaine, where Blaine is wandering across the floor, chatting with Rachel.

And yes. Blaine is most definitely happy.

*

And that explains why Blaine agrees to both wrangle the band AND be Rachel's plus-one for a wedding of people he doesn't know. He's still feeling high from a little bit of praise. And he wants to be in the group of people who can explain this highly critical, rather sarcastic angel to him, and he wants an excuse to sing love songs and listen for Kurt's voice singing along. Maybe he even watches a rom-com to prepare for it. Or two, or maybe three.

It all comes crashing down when Kurt says that he isn't going to be there. But a gig is a gig, and on the morning of the wedding, Rachel calls to confirm the setlist and call time and lets slip that she's about to get into the car with Kurt. And Blaine suddenly digs through his clothes for something that won't horrify the hottest fashion writer of the online world.

Al is amused when he pulls up the van in front of Blaine's apartment. "You could change when we get there, you know."

Blaine shrugs and stuffs his suitcase between a pair of amplifiers. Al frowns at him.

"Who is it this time?" Al asks. He just shakes his head when Blaine won't answer. "I should have known that there was a guy involved, when you wanted us to play at a wedding at the last minute."

"It's not like that," Blaine sputters. "It's a favor for a friend, the woman playing opposite me, her friend had a band quit at the last minute..."

Al looks sympathetic. "Mmm-hmmm."

Which makes it an awkward drive up to Westchester County. Even though Blaine tries to follow Rachel's orders and practice his lines while he rides.

*

Blaine's afternoon is busy, given that he is simultaneously playing the roles of manager and sound tech and roadie. Plus the ceremony and the reception will be in the same space, and nobody thought through all the different sound requirements for the processional soloists and the band. Blaine and Al lug speakers into different spots, and make sure the cables are easy to find and the mics are arranged where they can be handed to the soloists and the drum kit is nearby but hidden, so it can be easily set up while the caterers are preparing for the dinner. But they finish before the officiant and the wedding planner start to take over the space, and head back to the hotel to check on the rest of the band.

Blaine is conferring with the bass player and the keyboardist about getting their amps in place when he hears it.

_I dry the tears_   
_I've never shown_   
_Out here on my own._

He turns around and sees Kurt, looking a little lost in the chaos of instruments and suitcases and people. And then he decides: screw it. Blaine is Rachel's date and the de facto music manager, but Kurt is here and despite all of his friends, his inner voice is lonely. Blaine makes his excuses to the band, rolls his eyes at Al's knowing look, and joins Kurt to walk to the venue.

"You weren't part of all the photos earlier?" Blaine asks.

"Oh, god no," Kurt replies. "I'm a fashion writer, Blaine. Being surrounded by bridesmaids' dresses for hours would scar me for life. I love Tina to death, really, but heaven only knows what crimes against taste she has decided to inflict on her wedding party."

"You don't miss spending time with them?" Blaine figures that he is probably overstepping the bounds of their status as new acquaintances, but he's curious.

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Blaine, let me tell you about my secret game at weddings."

Blaine is intrigued. "Do tell."

"I call it _hook-up, break-up, or fight_." Kurt shares a conspiratorial grin with Blaine as they stop to let a car pass before crossing the street. "Every time I'm at a gathering with my friends, I make mental bets about which of them will end up in whose bed by the end of the night, which couples will fall apart, and who will end up slapping someone."

"You don't share your bets with anyone?" Blaine asks.

"Not usually, but I could make an exception this time. Want to play?" Kurt steps off the curb. "I'll give you a fast run-down of their relationship histories, just to make it fair. But you'll need to pay close attention. Imagine Fleetwood Mac, but with a rotating cast of twelve members."

"Even if I don't play, it will be good to know who might end up getting into a fight on stage," Blaine says.

"Ok." Kurt slows down their walk so they don't reach the crowd quite so quickly. "See the blond guy, Sam? He's been in relationships with pretty much every girl in the club. And Artie, the guy in the wheelchair, has been with all the rest of them. Including the bride." He tilts his head and observes the rest of the crowd. "Santana and Brittany - the Latina and the blonde who are holding hands - have collectively made out with pretty much everyone, boy or girl, except Mercedes and Rachel. I think." He shrugs. "But as long as they're with each other, they won't cause too much trouble. Unless Santana gets bored." He looks like he's running down a mental checklist. "Mike's a nice guy, but he's an ex-boyfriend of the bride, so that could get interesting. Quinn's married, but she's also ambitious, which makes her a wild card." He thinks for a moment. "Mercedes - my official date - is probably the sanest one of the crowd."

"Not Rachel?" Blaine asks.

Kurt starts laughing. "You work with Rachel," he reminds Blaine. "I love her like a sister, but... no. Just no."

"And what about you?" Blaine is pushing it, he knows. But this bit of openness is wonderful, and he doesn't want to let it slip by.

"Me?" Kurt looks amused. "I just observe it all." His eyes flick over at Blaine. "Not that I'm asexual or anything like that. But in this crowd, I hang back, watch, and give fashion advice. And an occasional shoulder to cry on. But don't tell anyone that last part. Tears don't mix with a lot of my favorite fabrics."

Blaine wants to ask more questions, but the big group has suddenly noticed Kurt, and the crowd surrounds him like an amoeba going after its lunch.

*

The crowd begins to enter the ballroom. Rachel finds Blaine, gives him a fast set of instructions as he checks her mic, and sends him to go sit down. He's delighted to find that Kurt is sitting in a near-empty row, and settles in beside him.

The inner songs of the audience are a complex mess. Some of the parents are singing _Teach Your Children Well_ , and one is singing _Cat's In The Cradle_. Two of the guys and several women are singing various songs of regret for love lost. There's a woman singing _The Boy is Mine_ , looking at a couple two rows in front of her. Blaine sneaks a glance at Kurt. It's probably a good thing that he isn't playing Kurt's game, given the unfair advantage that Blaine's secret talent gives to him. Rachel is singing about missing someone, but it sounds like it's not the person that everyone expects that she would miss. And while that's interesting, what Blaine really wants is to hear Kurt's voice. But Kurt remains silent, all the way through the ceremony.

Blaine cries. Of course he cries.

Look. There may be ex-boyfriends and girlfriends with regrets, but the bride and groom are singing dueling love songs in their heads. And it's just such a pleasure to get to wallow in everyone else's feelings for a bit.

And then Blaine's got more work to do, shifting the space from wedding chapel to dance floor. He manages to grab a quick dinner before the music starts, but it's hardly enough time to get to know the others at his table, let alone learn interesting high school stories.

*

Blaine can't listen to other people's songs while he's singing. Of course, most of the audience members take turns singing with the band, anyway. Every one of them, that is, except Kurt. He doesn't even join the group for _Celebration_ , which is the big number leading into set break. Blaine looks out at the crowd as the band hits the last notes and lets himself hear the inner songs. And then he hears Kurt.

_Although for you I would do almost anything  
Along is one way which I do not want to sing_

And it may be stubborn, but it is absolutely adorable. And it makes Blaine want to sing back to him.

But he just turns off his mic and follows the rest of the band out.

*

Blaine doesn't make it to the bar until halfway through set break. At first, he's helping the band get their things put away, and then he's captured by Rachel, who has a long list of ideas for the second set. And then he needs to wait for the lines to get shorter. But eventually, he gets a beer and wanders around the room. Or at least, pretends to wander. He knows he is going to stop by Kurt's table eventually, but Kurt is talking to his friends, and Blaine figures that's got to be a good thing. By the time Blaine gets over to him, set break is almost over. Kurt sees him, stands, and smiles, and Blaine's heart does a little backflip.

"No fights on stage," Blaine says, grinning.

"Oh, but we haven't gotten to the hook-ups yet," Kurt smirks back. "Just wait."

Blaine laughs, and imagines pulling Kurt into a hotel room. They're staying in the same place. It's not unthinkable.

"I don't have any updates on my bets," Kurt says. "But I've got a request for you."

"Oh?" Blaine asks, surprised. "I thought you didn't want to sing."

"I don't," Kurt says. "Santana and Brittany want to sing _Ain't No Mountain High Enough_."

"Isn't Santana the one who is dangerous when she's mad?" Blaine asks.

Kurt nods.

"I'll add it to the set list, then," Blaine grins. "I don't want to be the person who gets slapped on stage."

"Nobody's going to slap you," Kurt says. "They love you."

Blaine wants to ask whether the feeling is universal amongst the New Directions. Or maybe something that is both more obvious and less cheesy. But instead, an amp erupts with the sound of a guitar being tuned.

He gives Kurt an apologetic look. "That's my cue," Blaine says. "Remember, if you want to sing, we'll play anything for you."

Kurt grins at him. "Go. Be amazing. I'll be listening."

Blaine grins back at him, then turns and goes back to the stage.

*

There is a moment, late in the middle of the second set, when Blaine's mental filter breaks down. He's singing Michael Jackson songs with the guy in the wheelchair. Artie, right. Plus pretty much everyone else is joining in as they feel like it. The band is in the middle of _ABC_ , and, as usual, Blaine is looking for Kurt. And this time, Kurt looks up and meets his eyes.

_Sit down, boy_   
_I think I love you..._

Blaine stares at Kurt. Kurt stares back. And Blaine almost misses his next line, but it's ok, because Sam and Mike are drunk enough to sing all of them.

From that moment, Blaine just wants the set to be over.

Of course, Blaine is part of the band, which means that he can't just run out and declare his undying love immediately. There are cords to roll up, and drums to carry out, and a sound system to separate into things that belong to the band versus things that the wedding planner had rented.

Blaine is carrying a snare drum out to the van when one of the New Directions, the dangerous Latina one, beats him to the door. Blaine is about to thank her for holding the door for him, but Santana blocks his way.

"Don't hurt him," she says.

Blaine blinks.

"Don't act innocent," she says. "It's obvious that you want to get into Kurt's pants. Just... be kind to him."

Blaine stares at her. She doesn't seem the type to demand kindness from anyone.

"Hurt him, and we hurt you," she says. "I may be the only one who is bitchy enough to say anything, but if you hurt him, we'll all make you pay."

"I won't hurt him," Blaine says. "I promise."

Santana grins at him. "Good. Because he's already left, and I think he wants to get into your pants, too."

After that, Blaine decides that the rest of the band can pack the van. He's been working all day, and he has earned a bit of time to himself. Maybe with company.

He finds Al to let him know that he's heading back to the hotel, and then heads across the parking lot, toward the street that separates the wedding venue from his hotel. There's a crowd on the other side of the street, and a siren howling in the distance. It's getting closer. Blaine checks to make sure the road is still clear and crosses the street.

"I don't know what happened," someone is saying. "He was in the crosswalk, and a car was turning, and it hit him."

There's a body lying in the middle of the crowd. The face is pale against the dark jacket. Pale and familiar.

"Oh, shit." Blaine steps forward, trying to push through the crowd. "Kurt!"


	4. Rough drafts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt wants to share a draft of his wedding vows with Blaine. But Blaine's not so sure about sharing his idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This skips ahead in time, to the final chapter of "Kurt's Moderately Annoying Playlist."
> 
> I wrote a bit more of Blaine's point of view while Kurt was in the hospital, but it felt like a re-hash of the plot of the first story. After all, Blaine's feelings are so hidden after Kurt gets hurt. There's less to tell from a second point of view.
> 
> But this particular scene got stuck in my head, so I'm sharing it.
> 
> For once, there is no soundtrack.

Kurt turns his laptop so Blaine can see the screen. "Could you read this draft?"

Blaine glances at it. "These are your vows?"

"A draft of them," Kurt says. "Just a draft."

Blaine looks everywhere except the screen. "Don't you think we should wait until the ceremony?"

Kurt raises an eyebrow. "Because it's more romantic to be surprised on the first day of a life-long commitment?"

Blaine shrugs. "Well. When you put it that way." But he still doesn't look at the screen. He wants to feel it all at once, a tsunami of emotion. He wants to be swept off his feet, and to sweep Kurt off of his. He wants the grand gesture that he skipped with the silly proposal on the couch.

Kurt eyes him. "You're not even singing in your head yet, but I can hear the orchestra building. Blaine..."

Blaine sighs. "I'm never even going to be able to plan a surprise birthday party for you, am I."

Kurt places his hand on his forehead, in an over-dramatic gesture of mock horror. Then he rolls his eyes at Blaine. "I hate surprises."

Blaine shakes his head. "No, you don't."

Kurt relents. "I hate surprise _parties_ ," he says. "A nice dinner with flowers, a gift that I didn't think to ask for... ok. Fine." He shudders. "Just no driving around to unexpected places. And definitely no envelopes. Or mysterious text messages. I see them, and I immediately wonder who died."

Blaine reaches around the computer and threads his fingers through Kurt's. "Yeah. I get it." He glances at the little notebook where he has been writing and crossing out ideas. "And that means you probably want to know what I'm planning to say, too."

Kurt rubs his thumb across Blaine's palm. It's arousing, just short of tickling, but Blaine forces himself to ignore it. "You know I love your sappy words." Kurt gives Blaine an encouraging look. "I just want to know what's coming."

Blaine closes his eyes for a moment, then picks up the notebook and flips to a page. "This is just a start," he cautions Kurt. "It's more like scraps of lyrics, and less like a speech. My ideas don't come out in sentences and paragraphs like yours do."

"Is this what you've been humming to yourself lately?" Kurt makes grabby hands.

Blaine holds it back for a moment. "You know this is like eating the cookie dough while it's raw."

"Which risks salmonella, but is oh-so-good," Kurt replies. "Give it to me."

Blaine takes a breath and hands it over, then turns to the computer screen. Yes, he wants all of the feels at once, standing in front of their friends and hearing Kurt promise to love him forever. But maybe reading a draft won't diminish it...

And. Oh. If this is a draft... "Kurt." Blaine looks up. He knows that his eyes are wet. "This is..."

But Kurt is looking at Blaine's notebook and shaking his head. "Blaine. You can't say this."

Blaine blushes. "I was thinking of singing it."

Kurt shakes his head harder. "No."

Shit. It's not good enough. Of course it's not good enough. "I can make it less cheesy..."

Kurt looks up and blinks at him. "What are you talking about?" he asks. "I love your silly love songs. Don't you ever forget that."

Blaine bites his lip. "But?"

"But... an _angel_? Really?" Kurt raises an eyebrow.

Blaine shrugs. "What's wrong with angels, Kurt?"

"First of all, I am no angel. Or haven't you heard my fucking filthy mouth?" He smirks at Blaine. "Or my filthy mouth when fucking?"

Ok, so Kurt's language is kind of a turn-on. Even more when his singing includes words that can't be spoken on television.

Blaine ignores the tease. "And...?"

"And you promised that if we ever did a _Good Omens_ cosplay that I could be David Tennant." He rolls his eyes when Blaine doesn't take the bait. "Ok. Fine. I'm just not comfortable being idealized like that."

Blaine looks at Kurt's computer screen. "But your vows..."

"Are the truth," Kurt says. "But I don't know where you got this _angel_ idea. It's not _me_."

"When I first heard you," Blaine starts, "that's what I thought you were, Kurt."

"A quasi-religious mythical creature?" Kurt looks skeptical.

"I was drunk," Blaine admits. "And had just been dumped. But... when I was little, like four years old or so, I used to think that all the voices in my head were angels."

"So a quasi-religious pre-school homoerotic fantasy?" Kurt asks drily. "Do you want to talk about it? You know I'm a crappy therapist, but for you, I'll listen."

Blaine shrugs.

"Fine," Kurt says. "I only really have a problem with the quasi-religious part of it, anyway. I had my share of pre-school crushes on boys, after all." He reaches for Blaine's hand again.

Blaine wonders if Kurt hears him singing, but decides not to ask. Sometimes, hand-holding is just their thing.

"Blaine, look, I'll be serious about this for a moment. You say this - or sing it, whichever - and it will raise all kinds of questions. My friends know that I'm no angel. And some of them aren't likely to let it go until they get an answer."

"I disagree," Blaine argues. "I know you love Rachel, but she's too self-absorbed to notice a detail like that."

"I was thinking of Santana," Kurt replies. "And you know she won't let a potentially humiliating mystery go by without unraveling it." He shrugs. "Plus I like having this thing that we share, that nobody else knows about. If you said you imagined baby angels singing in your head, Santana wouldn't drop it until she knew everything. About both of us."

That's the first convincing argument Blaine has heard. "Ok," he says. "So I need to start over."

"Not now," Kurt says. "Let's snuggle up and watch _Moulin Rouge_ again." Ever since the proposal, it has been their go-to movie when their fights aren't big enough for make-up sex.

So they make popcorn, and grab a blanket, and start the movie. Partway through, they start singing along, Kurt's hands making slow circles on Blaine's shoulders to the rhythm, Blaine turning to make faces at Kurt until eventually, they are horizontal, Blaine leaning on Kurt's chest.

They manage to sing _Come What May_ , half out loud, half in their heads while kissing. When they're done, Kurt looks at Blaine thoughtfully.

"What?" Blaine knows that look. It could mean something amazing, or it could be terrifying.

"You want to sing at the wedding," Kurt muses. "What if I sang with you?"

"Out loud?" Blaine asks, surprised. "In front of your high school friends?"

"I mean, there's always a chance that I would open my mouth and nothing would come out," Kurt says. "It's scary to think about. But I'm willing to try, if I'm singing with you."

Blaine lifts himself onto his elbows. "You are? You would do that?" It's about as romantic as Blaine could want. But it also feels like Kurt would be taking all the risks, and it doesn't seem quite fair.

Kurt grins at him, and Blaine wonders what he had been singing. "You showed me your song," he reminds Blaine. "That's riskier than me singing out loud. And besides," he smirks, "I plan to listen to you sing your sappy angel song in our honeymoon bed."

And. Well. Maybe this was just an adult discussion. But...

**Author's Note:**

> I might play more with this AU, but I've got this version Blaine out of my head for now.
> 
> I've got another (barely canon-divergent) AU started. I'll play with that one for a while.


End file.
